


Hanaemi

by RemindMeWhoIAm



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: F/M, Forbidden Kiss Prompt, Implied Sexual Content, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 02:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15184694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemindMeWhoIAm/pseuds/RemindMeWhoIAm
Summary: hanaemi: (n.), literally "flowering smile"; a smile that is as beautiful as blooming flowers





	Hanaemi

    The first time she sees him, in the midst of a mutant attack on their way to GNR, he looks like a damned idiot.

    He’s just a kid, pushing six feet but with no muscle to balance his height, dirty blond hair sticking up in a million directions, sunglasses perched on a recently-broken nose and spiderwebbed with cracks in one lens.  His armor is obviously scavenged off dead raiders, ill-fitting and probably doing more to impede his movement than to actually protect vital organs.

    Turns out he doesn’t just look like an idiot; he tends to act like one, too.  Not in the traditional sense, either, which makes it almost worse -- he’s obviously got a brain in there, judging by how quick and easy he can get the radio tower back in order, but he talks more than he listens, has no sense of discernment, and she wouldn’t trust him to watch her back in a firefight against radroaches.

    He sticks around, though, always on the edge of her radar, usually accompanied by the massive, silent ghoul who serves as his bodyguard.  He rarely says anything to her, though she hears mixed messages about him from her troops. He’s apparently a love-him-or-hate-him type and, despite her irritation with how useless he was against that behemoth and with Wastelanders in general, she can’t seem to get him out of her head.

    It’s not long after she hears about James’s death in the purifier that she finds his son in some abandoned corner of the Citadel, sitting alone, sheltered by the dark.  She’s been pacing, striding through the halls and walkways, insomnia and restlessness keeping her awake. There’s a fight coming and the anticipation has set her nerves on fire.

    She almost walks right by him, he’s so quiet, but a shadow shifting catches her attention and she stops abruptly, hand going for her sidearm.

    He looks up at her, bringing his face out of his hands, and looks guilty.  He’s not wearing his sunglasses and his eyes are so big, so expressive, so impressively blue.  They’re child’s eyes, but there’s an old man’s grief dragging his shoulders down.

    “Sorry,” he says, standing. “I know I’m not supposed to be in here.”   


    Sarah looks around.  It’s a supply cache, little more than a closet without a door, tucked away from the barracks and the training yard, filled with crates of random supplies.

    “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she says, shrugging.  He gives her a small smile that she can’t help returning.  He’s grieving, but his smile is still genuine.

    “I just needed some time to think,” he says, “Can’t get a lot of that done in the barracks with Krieg sawing logs all night.”   


    A laugh bubbles out of her before she can suppress it; Paladin Krieg’s snoring is legendary among the Brotherhood.

    “Definitely not,” she agrees, and some back part of her brain reminds her to remain professional, to stop thinking about how lovely those eyes of his are, and how well he’s started to fill in his armor.

    “Are you on duty?” he asks, gaze straying to her sidearm.  She shakes her head.

    “Trying to think myself,” she answers, then hesitates.  She feels like she should say something about his father, offer some sort of condolence, but she doesn’t know what.  She’s a soldier, born and bred, and death is a part of that. Some deaths hurt more than others, but it’s not something she’s used to discussing or rehashing once the body is cold.

    “Where’s your...friend?” she asks instead, thinking of the walking hulk of ghoul that usually follows the kid everywhere.  He looks confused for a moment.

    “Charon?” he asks, “I, uh, gave him some time off.  People around here don’t seem to like him much.”

    Sarah nods, lips pursed.  Ghouls take some getting used to, especially ones as intimidating as Charon, but it bothers her that the kid has been running around without protection while the Enclave is on his ass.

    “Don’t worry about them,” she says, trying to sound dismissive. “You should always have someone to watch your back, Initiate.”   


    “Call me James.  Or Jimmy, or whatever.  Just not Junior.”   


    Sarah can’t help but smile again. “I don’t think Junior will help you out with the other Initiates,” she says, “How about J.J.?”

    He smiles and nods and  _ shit, _ she’s being so stupid, her heart fluttering a bit when he does.  He’s younger, he’s technically her subordinate, he’s just some bumbling Vaultie that barely knows the butt of a rifle from the barrel, but he makes her feel something strange and warm that she hasn’t ever felt before.

    “I can live with J.J.”

 

    He was gone when she woke up in the infirmary, already heading for Adams.  She’s been out for weeks and it shows, her legs wobbling when she slides out of bed and tries to get dressed.  The medics want her to stay, but once she’s got her bearings, she’s out the door. She’s a Sentinel; she can’t sit around in a sick bed while her soldiers fight the battle on their own, and J.J. is out there.  She’s never worried about her soldiers before, never felt so desperate to know that they’re okay like she does with J.J. The feeling is foreign and disconcerting, but it pushes her into the vertibird like a compulsion she can’t fight and doesn’t want to, anyway.

    When she sees him again, relief floods over her.  She feels frozen to the ground, unsure what to actually say.  He did it -- he pulled it off and got the nukes armed. In less than ten minutes, the Enclave will be gone for good.  The Brotherhood has control of the purifier and the base and the losses haven’t been catastrophic. That idiot kid in too-big armor did it and she’s filled with a bit of awe and a lot of something she can’t define.

    The ride back to the Citadel passes in silence.  J.J. is sitting across from her, Charon at his side. The soldiers around them are chattering, celebrating, and Charon is staring at the wall with a look of grim satisfaction on his ragged face.  J.J. catches her eye and her heart seizes. He doesn’t look happy, just...blank. There’s no sadness there, no pride, no disappointment, nothing.

    They return to the Citadel and her father has plenty to say.  She stands at attention with the Pride and tries to listen, but she can only sneak glances at J.J.  Her father thanks him and he nods, smiles, but it isn’t the same. There’s a falseness behind the smile, a lack of feeling that makes her sad.

    She’s walking again that night, circling around and around the wings of the Citadel, when she finds him back in that same supply closet.  It’s been almost a year since their first encounter there, and he startles her as much now as he did then.

    “You really like this thing, huh?” she asks once her heart rate has had a moment to settle.  He shrugs in disinterest.

    “It’s quiet,” he says.  His tone is flat and he’s looking at the floor, leaned forward on his knees, hands hanging limply.  She looks him over and sees there’s still soot from the explosions peppering his hair.

    “Is something wrong?”

    It feels odd to ask, but she does it anyway.  J.J. may have done the impossible, but he’s not a soldier; she wants to protect him, to make him smile again the way he did before.

    He looks up and rubs a hand across his jaw, shaking his head.  There's a shadow of dark stubble on his face and he looks older than his twenty years.

    “Nah,” he says, shrugging. “Just thinking.”

    She nods and squeezes into the small space, sitting on a crate opposite him.  She knows what this would look like to anyone passing by, but at the moment, she doesn’t care.  It makes her hurt to see that emptiness in his face.

    “What about?”   


    He sighs. “Trying to figure out where to go from here,” he says, “I don’t feel like I should stick around but I haven’t really got anywhere else to go.”   


    Sarah frowns. “You’re always welcome in the Citadel.  Whatever you need, you have it.”   


    He gives her a lopsided grimace. “I didn’t mean literally.  Just...what do I _do_ now?”

    She nods slowly.  As much as she’d like him to stay around, she knows he doesn’t fit in.  He’s smart enough to be a scribe, but he chafes under authority. He’s not a soldier, as much as she’d like him to be, if only to keep him around.

    Silence hangs between them.  Sarah fiddles with her uniform like some nervous recruit, her throat tight.  Before he stumbled into her life and ruined a good shot, she always had a handle on herself.  She knew where she belonged, she knew who she was, she knew what she felt. Now, the idiot kid is sitting here, his knees almost touching hers, and she feels lost.  The prospect of not seeing his stupid sunglasses winking at her across the courtyard, of not hearing him squabble with Charon, of losing that sweet smile makes her chest ache.  She’s become accustomed to his presence around the Brotherhood, as comfortingly familiar to her as the weight of a laser rifle on her back.

    “I’d like to see you around again,” she says and glances up at him cautiously, “I wish we had the chance to...get to know each other better.”

    She looks back down and waits.  It’s so stupid, the way this idiot makes her feel like some dumb little girl with a crush.  It’s not professional. She’s a Sentinel, a soldier, a leader, but this boy -- this man she barely knows makes her forget all that.  Makes her forget every rule in the Codex about fraternization, which, if he stayed, would govern their lives from there on out.

    The Brotherhood is her life in every way, but suddenly, that life seems a bit less appealing if J.J. isn’t there, too.

    “Sarah?”

    She looks up, chest tight, and he reaches for her.  His hand threads through her hair and calloused fingers drag across her scalp.  The sensation sends a tingle down her spine and she shivers.

    “Sarah, what do you want?”

    His voice is low, hoarse, barely a whisper in the darkness of their little hideaway.  His eyes -- dammit, she loves those eyes. She loves the freckles on his cheekbones, the way his hair never sits flat, the raw pink scar across his eyebrow, the little crook in his nose.  She’s been surrounded by men her whole life but never looked at one the way she looks at him now, beautiful and wonderful and hell, if she’s going to break the rules, it might as well be with him.

     When she leans forward to kiss him, she bumps his chin instead.  She can feel herself reddening but barely has time to be embarrassed before he cups her jaw and claims her mouth.  His lips are chapped but they move on hers in a way that makes her head spin. He pulls back, searching her face, and she realizes she can barely breathe.

    “Sarah, tell me what you want,” he says, “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

    She shakes her head. “I want  _ you _ ,” she whispers, and he reaches around and pulls her to him.  It’s awkward in the crowded little closet, but he’s holding her and she’s never felt so giddy.  He kisses her again, moving from her mouth to her cheek ear before wrapping both arms around her and squeezing.  He’s stronger than he looks and she can feel the hard planes of his muscular chest beneath the Brotherhood uniform. 

    It’s stupid and it’s against the rules, but she pulls him back to her quarters, holds him close and kisses him.  She doesn’t care what someone might say or think, because it’s J.J. and she needs that smile like she needs oxygen.

    She holds him to her chest, his stubble scratching her bare skin, and kisses his ear.  He turns his head and meets her mouth, and smiles, and she smiles because she can’t do anything but.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Ariejul for letting me steal her fic-naming convention *and* helping me find a good one. Also to MrNinjaPineapple for the original Tumblr prompt.
> 
> sociallyacceptablemadness.tumblr.com <\--- more J.J. and other OCs, plus plenty of randomness


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